


Petrichor

by thoughtswithink



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Hamilton - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: Bisexual Alexander Hamilton, Bottom Alexander Hamilton, Confused Hercules Mulligan, Dad Friend Hercules Mulligan, Dom Marquis de Lafayette, Dom Thomas Jefferson, F/F, F/M, Flirty Marquis de Lafayette, Gay Thomas Jefferson, Human Disaster Alexander Hamilton, Hurt Alexander Hamilton, M/M, Minor Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette/Hercules Mulligan, Pansexual Marquis de Lafayette, Past Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, Sad Jefferson, Sub Alexander Hamilton
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 12:53:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17601731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoughtswithink/pseuds/thoughtswithink
Summary: "And Alexander Hamilton knew exactly what he smelt like.He smelt like dust after the first fall of rain."





	Petrichor

**Author's Note:**

> Alexander snuck a look over to the man that had suddenly apparated beside him.
> 
> And it was him.
> 
> "Hi.” The mysterious man looked him up and down as he smirked. 
> 
> Fuck.  
> _____  
> wow i made this chapter a bit long whoops.
> 
> the next chapter should be up soon. let me know if you want it sooner or what you thought of this chapter?

It started the day Thomas Jefferson got back from Monticello.

Bars weren’t his scene, usually, but after months of unadulterated work, Thomas had allowed himself this short break.

Which is where he inevitably met the ever-famous Alexander Hamilton. 

That wasn’t to say that Hamilton was particularly famous - in fact, the young author’s life was relatively unaffected: by his popularity, that was. Being affected by Thomas Jefferson, however, was a completely different matter.

Quite humorously, Alexander never wanted to head to that bar on that night, but Lafayette had convinced him to. The young French man was eager, and, although Alexander wasn’t in the mood, an incident involving three litres of soap, chocolate strawberries and the senator of Vermont placed Hamilton in a position where he owed his best friend and roommate a favour.

So that was how Alexander Hamilton, the infamous novelist and occasional commentator of  _ The Wall Street Journal _ , ended up in a gay bar, staring down into his scotch thinking about work.

The short man always thought about work, constantly, it was the only thing he could rely on in his life and it had never left him disappointed. Always kept him busy and happy and always, always got him out of his dark places. To be without it was incredibly distressing, but as was life. He promised Lafayette he wouldn’t, and so he wouldn’t. That wouldn’t stop him thinking about it though. 

Speaking of the slightly (and by slightly, he of course meant much) taller man, the young Frenchman was in the middle of the dance floor, his face lathered in extensive - and also expensive - makeup from Mac, and Alexander watched with graceful intensity as the man grinding against him. 

The man in question had an incredible figure: his abs were extremely tight through his shirt as were his jeans. His skin was a warm sepia, and looked incredibly smooth - his collarbone was extremely prominent and his hair was messy, although Thomas had no idea. If he did have any idea, he would be driven crazy. His arms were moderately muscly and Alexander just couldn’t stop staring. When Thomas continued to grind against Hamilton’s best friend, lifting his arms above his head as his shirt lifted slightly above his waistline, Alexander’s cheeks dusted a light pink and he swivelled his chair around with crossed legs, taking moderate sips from his drink. 

No. He had promised himself. No boys. 

Yes, it was pretty difficult, living with a gay guy who was always bringing one-time hookups over, but he had promised himself no more guys after Charles. After Aaron. After John. Every time he broke up with a guy, he promised himself no more boys, and every time he went back for more. Not this time though, he wouldn’t this time. He promised himself. Especially not with the boy that was grinding against his best friend. Not that he would ever end up with him anyway - a handsome, rugged, sexy man attracted to a skinny, pale, overworked and tired guy like Alexander?

Impossible. 

“Some malt whiskey please.” 

Alexander snuck a look over to the man that had suddenly apparated beside him.

And it was him.

“Hi.” The mysterious man looked him up and down as he smirked. 

Fuck.

“Hello, mysterious man who was grinding against my French friend.” Alexander bitterly responded.

In response, he only laughed and stumbled onto the seat next to the young ambiguous writer.

“What are you doing?”

“Questioning your drink choices for starters.”

That, apparently, earned a snort.

“What’s so bad about malt whiskey?”

“Oh my fucking god, where do I start?”

And so off Hamilton went, into another one of his rants - the first of many, many rants that he would have at Thomas.

Now, Alexander could talk just as much as he could write, which was a whole goddamn lot. So Thomas just sat there and stared at the younger man as he got emotional and talked and smiled into his eyes.

Looking back, those eyes were the start.

The start of everything

*

“What the  _ fuck _ ? Seriously? You’re kidding, right? You seriously don’t read for fun? How is that humanly possible? You’ve got to tell me that you’ve read most of Shakespeare’s plays, if not all of them, right? Especially Hamlet. Oh my God, don’t get me started on Hamlet, that poor boy. You know that everyone represents him as a 30-something year old guy that’s just a fucking asshole, but he was barely fifteen! Barely fifteen and his mother had married the guy that  _ murdered _ his father not three weeks after the funeral! He always gets the blame and, I understand that he did some things wrong, but he was a teenager! He just needed some guidance! I can see why it’s Shakespeare’s most famous play, maybe other than Romeo and Juliet. Side note: Mercutio died in vain, people. Seriously. Anyway, as I was saying-” 

“Hamilton, calm down.” Thomas laughed as he stared at the man before him. “Hamlet was seriously not that good. I don’t read, okay? It’s not that bad. I just prefer to watch television. Books are so boring.”

Hamilton looked personally offended at that. “I can’t even look at you right now.” He replied and glanced over his shoulder to see Laf making out with some guy, flannel hanging off his waist.

“Guess I have you all to myself, huh?” Thomas asked, catching Alex looking.

“Guess you do.” He grinned as they continued talking, and they really did. They talked all night about the most insane things: about pop tarts (“No, Thomas, birthday cake is the rankest flavour known to man.” “Most rank. And just men? Not women?” “Fuck you.”), literature (“Alexander, get over it already, yes, I know that you love Jane Eyre more than yourself, I’ve heard it a million times-”), even the fact that Thomas didn’t own a microwave or toaster (“What the fuck? How do you cook  _ anything _ ? Are you a fucking aristocrat or something?”).

“As a matter of fact I am.”

“Uh, what?” He stuttered. “You’re a what?” 

“Well, I come from old Virginia money on my dad’s side and new Virginia money on my mother’s side. So yeah, I’m filthy rich.” He slurred and giggled.

Alexander gasped. “Be my sugar daddy.” 

Thomas smirked and checked out both Alex’s ass and his bulge as he grinned and leant in 

to whisper to Alex, hot breath on his ear. “Gladly.”

Oh, that made Alexander shiver. 

*

Soon enough, Lafayette had jumped over to Alexander and was slurring his words with a giggle, a man on his neck.

“Mon ami, I'm going home with this sexy man now. Apportez votre petit ami si vous voulez.”

“He’s not my-”

“Yes he is. Au revoir!” He hummed and ran towards the exit. 

“Fuck, thanks Laf! Damn it.”

“Nice talk around your date.”

“Fuck you.” He replied and blushed crimson. “It's like two in the morning, I'm going home. What are you doing?” He asked with a sigh.

“I'mma lay in the alley until I'm sober.” He purred.

“Oh for fuck's sake.” 

Alexander considered his two options here: leave this ass in an alley (that was the more tempting option) or take him home to make sure he doesn't commit a public offense. 

“You're coming home with me, asswipe. Come on Jeffershit.” Hamilton hauled him up and carried him out to his car.  

Thomas Jefferson was rambling about the most insane things and Alexander was barely listening. 

Until he had his ass grabbed.

“Mmm, I wish I could make this ass all mine. That'd be nice, wouldn't it,  _ darlin _ ’?” 

Alexander went bright red and shoved him into the car, climbing into the other side. “Fuck you Thomas Jefferson. We're going home and you're not gonna touch my ass again. Okay?”

Thomas nodded and grinned.

They didn't talk the rest of the journey home.

*

“Right, get in bed.” Alexander pulled the sheets over the drunk man underneath him.

They were both desperately trying to ignore the moans and sounds coming from the other bedroom, but it wasn't going very well for either of them. 

“Alex?” He purred as he curled up into the sheets.

“What is it?” He asked as he sighed and sat on the bed. 

“Do you have a boyfriend?” He asked.

That stopped Alex right away. He didn't want to answer that at all. He barely even told Laf what happened afterwards.

“If I answer, will you shut the fuck up and sleep?” 

“Yeah!”

“No. Not anymore.”

“Why?”

“My first boyfriend did some stuff,” Alex started, “And I couldn't deal with it so I left. The next one cheated on me. And the latest one just… Got tired of me, I guess. I don’t blame him.” He wiped his eyes. “Will you go to fucking sleep now?”

Picking up his glasses, the now-saddened man looked at Thomas and stood up.

“I'm sorry.”

“Whatever. Go to sleep.” 

And he left.

*

“You're so fucking gay.” 

“You've been fucking a guy for the last hour, don't give me that. I'm not gay.”

“You're such a liar. I can tell you like him. You can't keep being so scared. Charles is gone. John was a year ago. It's okay to like guys.” 

Alexander and Lafayette were relaxing on the sofa, the television on low. Talking about guys now, obviously.

“He's an asshole, Laf. He doesn't read for fun, he's an ass. No way.”

“But you were checking him out when he was grinding against me. You obviously think he's hot, why don't you just fuck?”

Alexander sighed. “He's drunk, firstly. And I was not checking him out.” This was a lie.

“When are you going to let yourself like someone? He likes you too, Alex. Just, c'mon.” 

“No.”

“What's the ass refusing to do now?” Came a sultry voice from behind them both.

“Thomas!” Alexander almost sounded excited as he twisted around to look who had appeared.

“Nope, just your roommate's one-night stand.” The man replied.

“No, no, no hun, no. It started as sex, but I really like you. Veux-tu sortir bientôt?” He asked.

Alexander pretended to retch. “Ew. Romance is gross, dude.” He replied. “Ridicule. Even if I did like him, there's no way.”

“J'adorerais.” Hercules, which was apparently the man's name, replied.

“Try it, mon ami. Seriously.”

 

So he did.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> wow i made this chapter a bit long whoops.
> 
> the next chapter should be up soon. let me know if you want it sooner or what you thought of this chapter?  
> \-----  
> veux-tu sortir bientôt = do you want to go out soon?  
> ridicule = ridiculous  
> J'adorerais = i'd love to  
> \-----  
> forgive me if the french isn't too accurate, i'm not fluent!  
> \-----  
> i tried my best! please leave comments and kudos


End file.
